


Better Medicine

by glittercat



Category: Genesis (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Hand Jobs, Lemon Tea, M/M, Sickfic, fun activities in a hotel room, nothing dirty happens with the tea though don’t worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittercat/pseuds/glittercat
Summary: Tony has a cold. Mike brings him some tea and lends a helping hand.





	Better Medicine

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little Tony/Mike fluff piece, written fairly quickly. I don't think I'll ever get tired of sickfics.....

_April 6th, 1978_

Tony wakes up to blinding sunlight coming through the hotel room window.

He's always been a fairly light sleeper, but being woken up from a nap by the _sun_ just seems silly to him. Why couldn’t it have stayed overcast outside?

It takes a moment for Tony’s eyes to get used to the light again, and even then, the brightness seems to bring back a dull ache behind his temples. So, the nap didn’t cure his headache. _Great._

On top of that, Tony’s got a terribly sniffly nose, and he thinks his voice is starting to go as well. He almost feels like he shouldn’t be surprised- of _course_ he would get a cold. There's all the stress of starting a new tour- they’re only a few stops in- plus the fact that they’re in a completely new city, with completely unfamiliar surroundings. Tony figures he should’ve predicted this, really. He can't help but worry whenever things like this happen- _it's just a cold,_ he keeps reminding himself, _it'll go away soon enough_.

As he's deciding whether to try to fall back asleep, someone knocks on the door.

Tony considers leaving it- he has no desire to get up, even if it's only a few steps to the door. However, there's a decent chance that it’s Mike or Phil waiting outside, and he wouldn't want to worry either of them by not answering. He drags himself off the couch, his head throbbing as he stands up. _Does it really take that long for Advil to kick in?_

“Hey, Tony. Just wanted to see if you were feeling any better.” Mike is in full casual wear- a t-shirt and faded jeans- and holding a small yellow box that Tony can’t identify at first.

Tony yawns and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I am.”

“Yeah. You don't seem yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you're grumpier than usual, for one,” Mike replies as Tony closes the door behind him.

“I am _not,_ ” Tony argues with a sniffle.

“Suuuure. Anyways. I guess it's a good thing we’re not playing tonight,” Mike says. Tony hums in agreement- he has no plans to leave his room at all until the headache goes away, let alone play an entire show.

“Would having something to eat make you feel better?” Mike asks. “Or maybe tea? I know I always like lemon tea when I'm not feeling well…”

Tony doesn't answer right away. He's lost most of his appetite, and while he knows he _should_ be eating, knows that it would probably help him feel better… he has absolutely no desire to. Lemon tea sounds kinda good, though.

Mike speaks up again before Tony can answer. “I actually have some lemon tea in the box- I just figured it might be nice. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it before…”

“I’m not sure if I have.” Tony thinks he would remember ever trying lemon tea, but one can never be _too_ sure of these things.

“Well, if you want some, I’ll make some. You might like it.”

Mike boils a pot of water in the little kettle and prepares a couple of cups of tea for him and Tony. The scent fills the hotel room- it’s warm and fresh and sort of comforting, in an odd way.

“Why are you drinking this?” Tony asks, taking a sip from his mug. “You made it sound like this is just a drink for when you’re sick.”

“Well, I guess it’s not _just_ for when you’re sick. It’s like chicken noodle soup, I guess. You can eat that anytime, but it’s good for making you feel better when you have a cold, right?”

Tony thinks for a moment. “I’ve never had chicken noodle soup.”

The pair sits in silence for a moment. Tony will admit that the tea makes him feel a bit better- sure, the pounding headache is still there, but his nose and throat feel less congested, at least.

“Were you gonna go back to sleep?” Mike finally asks.

“How did you know I was sleeping?”

“Your hair’s a mess and you’re wearing nothing but a sweatshirt and boxers.” Tony looks down, as if he’s forgotten that he’s still in his makeshift pajamas, and Mike continues on. “Also, the pile of blankets and pillows were a bit of a hint as well.”

“Oh. Yeah, uh, maybe. Probably not for a while, though,” Tony replies.

“Okay. Well. I guess I should probably leave you to rest up, anyways,” Mike starts. “Even though we’re not playing _tonight,_ we've got shows tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day…”

“You don’t have to, though,” Tony interrupts. “It’s… kind of nice having you here, I guess.” In nearly any other situation, Tony would have much preferred to be alone, but he’s already been by himself in the little hotel room for the entire morning, and he’s starting to crave some company.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can stay.”

“Well, in that case, do you wanna lie down for a bit?” Mike asks. “The couch looks like it could probably fit both of us…”

“Are you sure you wanna do that? I mean, there's probably a chance this is contagious.” Tony asks with a sniffle.

Mike shrugs. “I think I've got a pretty decent immune system. Besides, it's just a cold, right?”

“Well, I _think_ it's just a cold,” Tony sighs. “You know how I worry about these things, though.”

“Yeah. Honestly, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Mike sits down on the couch and holds out his arms as if to ask Tony to join him. As much as Tony doesn’t want to get his bandmate sick, he’s still feeling quite sleepy, and Mike _is_ one of the few people who Tony genuinely enjoys cuddling up with.

Tony half-sits-half-lies down beside Mike and settles into his embrace. Mike holds his bandmate close, occasionally running his fingers through Tony’s soft hair (he knows Tony’s always loved that) and playing with the hems on Tony’s boxers.

Feeling completely at peace, Tony lets himself relax a little more. He considers trying to fall back asleep- he’d said he wouldn’t before, but now he’s feeling so warm and comfortable that the urge is hard to resist. Mike’s hands are so _nice_ against his skin, too, moving carefully and gently, as if he’s held Tony like this a million times before.

Maybe sleep isn’t exactly what Tony needs right now.

Moving upwards, Mike runs a hand over Tony’s stomach, making small circular movements, and occasionally tapping his fingers along the soft fabric of Tony’s sweatshirt. As he goes lower down, he feels Tony getting hard through his boxers.

“Sorry,” Tony mumbles. He’s suddenly thankful that from this angle, Mike can’t see the blush spreading across his cheeks. “That’s, um… that happens sometimes when I’m sick. It’s a weird side effect, I guess.”

“Wait, what?” Mike asks. He doesn’t sound concerned, or anything like Tony might have expected; rather, he sounds curious. “You get… uh, what?”

“I get, er, turned on more easily when I’m sick,” Tony explains. “I… honestly don’t know why.”

“Oh.”

Tony is sure he’s just made things very, very awkward. However, Mike’s mind seems to have gone to a completely different place.

“So, I know we’ve not really done anything like this before, but, uh… do you want some help with that, maybe?”

_Is he really suggesting this?_

As out-of-nowhere as it seems, Tony doesn’t think it’s necessarily a _bad_ idea. Besides, he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about this before. Maybe Mike’s onto something here.

“Well, we could certainly give that a try,” Tony finally says, trying not to sound too nervous.

Mike helps him out of his boxers and holds him tight again. He spits onto his hand- Tony assumes he’s using that as a makeshift lube- and wraps his fingers firmly around Tony’s dick. Mike’s grasp is firm, but not too firm; just enough to feel comfortable. He really does have lovely hands- _nice, strong, bass player hands,_ Tony thinks to himself, before realizing that right now is probably not the best time for thinking at all.

Mike starts stroking, and _oh, god,_ this feels like it could cure Tony’s cold immediately.

He knows right away that he won’t last long- he's already so worked up, and Mike’s being slow and gentle, as if he knows that’s _exactly_ how Tony likes it. Tony lets out a soft sigh and closes his eyes. Mike keeps going, whispering in his ear now, asking questions that Tony doesn’t think he’ll be able to answer- _how’s that feel? You enjoying that? Is that helping with the cold at all?_ Somehow, those last few words prove to be enough to send Tony over the edge.

Mike holds Tony tight as he comes, one hand still tight around Tony’s cock, the other wrapped around Tony’s waist. Tony digs his nails into the couch, his body quivering as cum splatters onto his sweatshirt.

Once he’s ridden out his climax, Tony relaxes into Mike’s form again. They sit there for a moment, and Mike strokes Tony’s hair lightly again.

“I just realized something,” Mike muses, breaking the silence in the room.

“What is it?”

“You still have half a mug of lemon tea left.”

“Oh. So I do.” Tony glances over at the mug still sitting on the coffee table. “Well, I might just leave it for now and reheat it later.”

“Oh? Does that mean you’re feeling better, then?”

Tony laughs softly. “Maybe.”


End file.
